


Last Night I Dreamed of You

by BadHidingSpot



Series: Bradburry 2016 [10]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drunk Derek, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 09:42:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6978196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadHidingSpot/pseuds/BadHidingSpot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles carries a drunk Derek home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Night I Dreamed of You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [steamcurious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/steamcurious/gifts).



"I had a dream about you last night," Derek says, his words dragging out of his mouth like a slug on concrete. He smells like alcohol and Stiles can't help but think he probably tastes like it right now too. Or at least Stiles would think that if he wasn't buzzing with questions about this aforementioned dream Derek's had about him.  
"You don't say," Stiles tries to act casual. You know, as casual as a guy can be when he's carrying a stumbling man twice his muscle mass up some stairs at three in the morning.   
"I just said so didn't I?" Derek grumbles. Stiles wonders briefly how long Derek has ever gone during a conversation without grumbling. "Who'd lie about that?"  
"Fake TV psychics?" Stiles gets Derek to the top of the landing, of course Derek has to live on the top floor, and begins to guide Derek to his apartment door. Stiles is pressed against Derek in so many places and it's pleasantly warm in all of them. Derek's body must radiate heat constantly. He must be the perfect cuddling partner in the winter. Thinking about this gives Stiles a sad and desperate sort of longing that he tries to shake off because pathetic mooney-eyed longing is Isaac's thing and he'll be damned if he's going to take after Angel Face himself.  
Derek snickers and for a minute Stiles doesn't think it's tied to anything. Just random drunken snickering. "What ever happened to her do you think?"  
"To who? What?"  
"Miss Cleo. Call me now for your free reading." On some of the words Derek attempts the accent and succeeds not at all. Other words are just Derek's gruff giggling. Stiles leans him against the hall wall, steadying Derek there as best he can so he can get the door. It's locked, Stiles remembers with an awkward pang, and he looks to Derek.  
"Keys?"  
"You want to hear about my dream?" Derek makes no movement to get his keys. Stiles would grab them himself if they weren't so snuggly nestled close to Derek's crotch.  
"Of course I do," Stiles says gently, "but inside. Where we won't wake your neighbors." There is some unhappy muttering from Derek as he wiggles himself about trying to get at his keys. Stiles simultaneously hopes and dreads that Derek is going to need Stiles to slide his hand in to his pockets and get it himself. Luckily, or unluckily depending on one's point of view, Derek wrestles his keys out and tosses them to Stiles. Derek seems to comprehend that he doesn’t have the coordination to unlock his own door. Stiles has it open just as Derek is sliding down the wall into a sitting positon. "Whoa there Big Guy!" Stiles objects grabbing Derek by the bicep, the unfairly firm bicep, and pulling him up and into the apartment. Stiles closes and locks the door taking this down as a victory while Derek starts to strip off his shirt and shoes making his way to the couch.  
"We were in a house," Derek begins and Stiles is surprised that Derek is really going to tell him about his dream. "Big house. Ugly thing. It was falling apart everywhere and I knew you were somewhere but I couldn't find you." Derek falls onto the couch and pulls a plush blanket off the back of it onto himself. "C'mere," Derek demands and Stiles finds himself walking over and kneeling next to Derek to listen. "Where was I?"  
"You couldn't find me in the house," Stiles offers.  
"Right, thanks." Derek pauses to smile at Stiles. "So I started shouting for you and looking everywhere. And every time I felt I was getting close to you I'd open a door and you wouldn't be there. It was so frustrating."  
"That's awful," Stiles imagines the torment of these types of dreams: you're late for a test or you've lost your cell phone and there is only obstacle after obstacle to keep you from finding it.  
"It was. I was lost and a little scared for you."  
"What happened next?"  
Derek furrows his brow and shakes his head. "Nothing happened. That was it. I spent the whole dream like that. Looking and never finding you."  
"Oh," Stiles gulps feeling a blush rise in him, "I'm sorry. I was hoping there'd be something cheerier about it. Like a weird dream element. You know like an ear cleaning convention or something. Something wild that made it a funny dream."  
"Stay right here," Derek yawns putting his hand on top of Stiles' head and pulling him closer to the couch.  
"I can't just stay here Big Guy."  
"You have to," Derek's slurs are winding down into the sleep part of intoxication and Stiles is all too grateful for this awkwardly heated night to end. He's ready to wait for Derek to pass out and then be on his merry way when Derek whispers something. "I want to find you."  
With a little effort Stiles wriggles into a comfortable position on the floor propped up against the couch, his head still under Derek's palm, and makes himself comfortable. He figures he should be there. In case Derek wakes up and needs him.


End file.
